The Return of Kaelen Viremont

Chapter 2: The Second Young Miss and the Gifted Sword

The guard froze in place, clutching his throat as his knees nearly buckled. Just a heartbeat longer, and he would have been dead.

Next to him, the second guard trembled, muttering under his breath, “Even a stable boy in House Hanwynn... he could crush us. Talent blooms where you least expect it.”

Inside the ancestral hall, the air felt thick with reverence. Hundreds of spirit tablets lined a towering sandalwood altar, each etched with the names of House Hanwynn’s ancestors. Candles flickered against the stone pillars, casting dancing shadows across the sacred space.

Kaelen stepped inside, calm as ever, ignoring the ancestral tablets entirely. His gaze settled on the inner courtyard, where an old man slumbered at a wooden table, his head resting on folded arms.

A gentle knock broke the silence.

“Who’s there?” the elder groaned, his eyes half-lidded. “Can’t an old man nap in peace?”

But the moment he saw Kaelen, he shot upright, blinking in disbelief. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, pressing and tapping Kaelen’s muscles and joints with painstaking care.

“This... this is impossible,” he muttered.

Kaelen raised an eyebrow. “Senior, is this really how you verify cultivation? By groping someone’s bones?”

The elder blinked, then chuckled awkwardly. “No, no. Just... curious. Your aura is unusual. And your body... it’s nearly flawless.”

Dressed in coarse linen robes, he studied Kaelen like some rare artifact, clicking his tongue over and over.

Kaelen squinted. Does this old man have eccentric tastes?

Without another word, Kaelen released the aura of a First Heaven True Martial cultivator. Moments later, he received his House Hanwynn identification token. Silent as a shadow, he turned and sprinted from the hall.

The elder remained behind, his eyes gleaming faintly, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“So the awakening has begun. At last...” he whispered, his voice drifting like a memory from another lifetime.

Kaelen raced through the corridors.

“Brother! Wait!”

The frightened guard from earlier caught up, breathless, shoving something into Kaelen’s hand.

Kaelen glanced down. It was a mid-grade spirit stone, warm and glowing faintly.

“What’s this for?” he asked.

The guard laughed nervously. “About earlier... I didn’t recognize greatness when I saw it. Please, take this as an apology. It’s worth a hundred low-grade stones.”

A free resource. Kaelen didn’t refuse. He slipped the shimmering stone into his robe and kept moving.

Half an hour later, at the edge of the estate, Kaelen sat cross-legged in a small, dilapidated house. With his eyes closed, he clutched the spirit stone in his palm.

Its spiritual energy had already been drained. Golden true vital energy surged quietly through his veins, stronger than before, though still far from Second Heaven. When he opened his eyes, a faint golden light shimmered in his pupils.

“Cultivation is expensive,” he muttered, staring at the powdered stone. The Creation Divine Technique accelerated his progress, producing dense true vital energy and a resilient body, but its cost was staggering.

Other cultivators might stretch a mid-grade spirit stone for half a month. Kaelen burned through one in under thirty minutes.

The golden divine pill in his mind, so full of mysterious energy, remained silent.

He frowned. I still haven’t figured out how to activate it. It only helped during my first breakthrough. Will it only respond at critical moments?

His father’s voice, Therion Viremont, the Divine Emperor, echoed in his mind:

“This divine pill will allow you to live as long as the sun and moon, existing alongside heaven and earth.”

To live as long as the heavens... not even a Divine Emperor had done it. That pill held secrets, but Kaelen wasn’t strong enough yet to unlock them.

Shoving the thought aside, he resumed meditation. The Creation Divine Technique churned golden energy through his bones, muscles, and blood, refining everything. More than anything, he wanted to push the technique further.

“Only those of the Divine Morning royal bloodline can cultivate this... but I was reborn as a servant. How can I use it?”

Too strange. Too many questions. There was no time. Only power mattered.

His father’s voice returned:

“With every breakthrough of the Creation Divine Technique, you will awaken a unique and fearsome talent.”

Therion had awakened the Heaven’s Tribulation Sword, a divine weapon capable of slicing through space and slaying dragons.

What would Kaelen awaken?

A shiver ran down his spine at the thought.

Meanwhile, in House Hanwynn’s inner garden courtyard...

Elira knelt with her forehead pressed to the grass, every tremor of her body steeped in terror.

“Second Miss! Please! I buried Mirelle without permission. I was wrong! Don’t kill me!”

Aurelia Duskryn, the second daughter of House Hanwynn, stood like a goddess of death. Her snow-white shoulders were framed by long black hair, and a red jewel glowed on her forehead.

Beautiful. Noble. Dangerous.

Her eyes glimmered with an otherworldly light, cold malice radiating from them. She looked down at Elira.

“Drokhan Stonefist, tear this worthless trash apart. Feed him to my Unicorn Demon Horse.”

“Yes, Second Miss,” came the mechanical reply.

“No! Please! I beg you!”

Elira’s screams ended abruptly. Her neck twisted with a sickening snap. Clad in black armor, Drokhan lifted her limp body effortlessly, his expressionless face revealing no trace of mercy.

Aurelia sneered. “Kaelen... who would have thought? An orphan we took in suddenly steps into the True Martial Realm. But naive, still... a servant dreaming of rising above his station.”

She commanded, “Drokhan, take a few men. Find him. Cripple him and bring him back. I’ll show him what it means to be born beneath the heavens yet reach for the stars.”

“As you command, Second Miss.”

Heavy, final steps echoed through the courtyard.

“A servant will always be a servant,” Aurelia murmured, reclining on a swing.

Her eyes closed as she waited.

But Kaelen wasn’t in his quarters.

Drokhan returned empty-handed.

“He escaped,” he reported.

“Escaped?” Aurelia’s eyes flared. “That little dog dares flee? Call the family guards! Search every corner! He’s only at the first layer of the True Martial Realm. How far can he go?”

Kaelen hadn’t fled.

He stood tall before the Martial Tower, the grand, nine-story heart of the House Hanwynn estate. Around it, the vibrant inner marketplace buzzed with life, reserved for clan members.

Newly awakened cultivators received a one-time reward: a weapon and a basic martial technique.

Kaelen stayed in the clan, not out of fear, but for this moment. He could have gone rogue and wandered the world, but he wasn’t strong enough yet. Outside lay roaming warriors, murderous sects, and savage beasts.

With two lives behind him, his heart was calm and steady. He walked through the bustling marketplace, a river of people flowing around him.

At the counter, he presented his identification token. Behind it stood the eccentric old man from the ancestral hall.

“Kaelen, boy. We meet again.”

“I’ve come to claim my weapon and martial technique,” Kaelen said.

The old man’s eyes sparkled. “Boy, you speak right to my heart. I’ll gift you a sword myself!”

From a case, he produced a long sword, faintly humming with power.

“Take it. Wield it well.”

Kaelen accepted it with reverence.

In the martial world, everything had grades: Mortal, Yellow, Profound, Earth, Heaven, King, Emperor, Venerable, Saint, Divine.

Anything above Heaven Grade was a national treasure.

King, Emperor, and Saint Grades were myths, legends across the Velarion Continent.

Now Kaelen stood at the starting line.

Spark in hand.

Fire in his soul.

His journey had truly begun.

oze in place, clutching his throat as his knees nearly buckled. Just a heartbeat longer, and he would have been dead.

Next to him, the second guard trembled, muttering under his breath, “Even a stable boy in House Hanwynn… he could crush us. Talent blooms where you least expect it.”

Inside the ancestral hall, the air felt thick with reverence. Hundreds of spirit tablets lined a towering sandalwood altar, each etched with the names of House Hanwynn’s ancestors. Candles flickered against the stone pillars, casting dancing shadows across the sacred space.

Kaelen stepped inside, calm as ever, ignoring the ancestral tablets entirely. His gaze settled on the inner courtyard, where an old man slumbered at a wooden table, head resting on folded arms.

A gentle knock broke the silence.

“Who’s there?” the elder groaned, eyes half-lidded. “Can’t an old man nap in peace?”

But the moment he saw Kaelen, he shot upright, blinking in disbelief. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, pressing and tapping Kaelen’s muscles and joints with painstaking care.

“This… this is impossible,” he muttered.

Kaelen raised an eyebrow. “Senior, is this really how you verify cultivation? By groping someone’s bones?”

The elder blinked, then chuckled awkwardly. “No, no. Just… curious. Your aura—it’s unusual. And your body—it’s nearly flawless.”

Dressed in coarse linen robes, he studied Kaelen like some rare artifact, clicking his tongue over and over.

Kaelen squinted. Does this old man have eccentric tastes?

Without another word, Kaelen released the aura of a First Heaven True Martial cultivator. Moments later, he received his House Hanwynn identification token. Silent as a shadow, he turned and sprinted from the hall.

The elder remained behind, eyes gleaming faintly, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “So the awakening has begun. At last…” he whispered, voice drifting like a memory from another lifetime.

Kaelen raced through the corridors.

“Brother! Wait!” The frightened guard from earlier caught up, breathless, shoving something into Kaelen’s hand.

Kaelen glanced down—a mid-grade spirit stone, warm and glowing faintly.

“What’s this for?” he asked.

The guard laughed nervously. “About earlier… I didn’t recognize greatness when I saw it. Please, take this as an apology. It’s worth a hundred low-grade stones.”

A free resource. Kaelen didn’t refuse. He slipped the shimmering stone into his robe and kept moving.

Half an hour later, at the edge of the estate, Kaelen sat cross-legged in a small, dilapidated house. Eyes closed, he clutched the spirit stone in his palm.

Its spiritual energy had already been drained. Golden true vital energy surged quietly through his veins, stronger than before, though still far from Second Heaven. When he opened his eyes, a faint golden light shimmered in his pupils.

“Cultivation is expensive,” he muttered, staring at the powdered stone. The Creation Divine Technique accelerated progress—dense true vital energy, a resilient body—but its cost was staggering.

Other cultivators might stretch a mid-grade spirit stone for half a month. Kaelen burned one in under thirty minutes.

The golden divine pill in his mind—so full of mysterious energy—remained silent.

He frowned. I still haven’t figured out how to activate it. It only helped during my first breakthrough. Will it only respond at critical moments?

His father’s voice—Therion Viremont, the Divine Emperor—echoed in his mind:

"This divine pill will allow you to live as long as the sun and moon, existing alongside heaven and earth."

To live as long as the heavens… not even a Divine Emperor had done it. That pill held secrets, but Kaelen wasn’t strong enough yet to unlock them.

Shoving the thought aside, he resumed meditation. The Creation Divine Technique churned golden energy through bones, muscles, and blood, refining everything. More than anything, he wanted to push the technique further.

“Only those of the Divine Morning royal bloodline can cultivate this… but I was reborn as a servant. How can I use it?”

Too strange. Too many questions. There was no time. Only power mattered.

His father’s voice returned:

"With every breakthrough of the Creation Divine Technique, you will awaken a unique and fearsome talent."

Therion had awakened the Heaven’s Tribulation Sword—a divine weapon capable of slicing through space and slaying dragons. What would Kaelen awaken? A shiver ran down his spine at the thought.

Meanwhile, in House Hanwynn’s inner garden courtyard…

Elira knelt, forehead pressed to the grass, every tremor of her body steeped in terror.

“Second Miss! Please! I buried Mirelle without permission. I was wrong! Don’t kill me!”

Aurelia Duskryn, second daughter of House Hanwynn, stood like a goddess of death. Snow-white shoulders framed by long black hair, a red jewel glowing on her forehead. Beautiful. Noble. Dangerous.

Her eyes glimmered with otherworldly light, cold malice radiating. She looked down at Elira.

“Drokhan Stonefist, tear this worthless trash apart. Feed him to my Unicorn Demon Horse.”

“Yes, Second Miss,” came the mechanical reply.

“No! Please! I beg you!”

Elira’s screams ended abruptly. Drokhan’s neck twisted with a sickening snap. Clad in black armor, he lifted the limp body effortlessly—expressionless, merciless.

Aurelia sneered. “Kaelen… who would have thought? An orphan we took in suddenly steps into the True Martial Realm. But naive, still… a servant dreaming to rise above his station.”

She commanded, “Drokhan, take a few men. Find him. Cripple him and bring him back. I’ll show him what it means to be born beneath the heavens yet reach for the stars.”

“As you command, Second Miss.”

Heavy, final steps echoed through the courtyard.

“A servant will always be a servant,” Aurelia murmured, reclining on a swing. Eyes closed, waiting.

But Kaelen wasn’t in his quarters. Drokhan returned empty-handed.

“He escaped,” he reported.

“Escaped?” Aurelia’s eyes flared. “That little dog dares flee? Call the family guards! Search every corner! He’s only at the first layer of the True Martial Realm. How far can he go?”

Kaelen hadn’t fled. He stood tall before the Martial Tower—the grand, nine-story heart of House Hanwynn estate. Around it, the vibrant inner marketplace buzzed with life, reserved for clan members. Newly awakened cultivators received a one-time reward: a weapon and a basic martial technique.

Kaelen stayed in the clan—not out of fear, but for this moment. He could have gone rogue, wandered the world, but he wasn’t strong enough yet. Outside lay roaming warriors, murderous sects, savage beasts.

Two lives behind him, his heart was calm, steady. He walked through the bustling marketplace, a river of people flowing around him.

At the counter, he presented his identification token. Behind it stood the eccentric old man from the ancestral hall.

“Kaelen, boy. We meet again.”

“I’ve come to claim my weapon and martial technique,” Kaelen said.

The old man’s eyes sparkled. “Boy, you speak right to my heart. I’ll gift you a sword myself!”

From a case, he produced a long sword, faintly humming with power. “Take it. Wield it well.”

Kaelen accepted it with reverence. In the martial world, everything had grades: Mortal, Yellow, Profound, Earth, Heaven, King, Emperor, Venerable, Saint, Divine. Anything above Heaven Grade was a national treasure. King, Emperor, Saint Grades—myths, legends across the Velarion Continent.

Now Kaelen stood at the starting line. Spark in hand. Fire in the soul. His journey had truly begun.

If you want, I can also do a version with even more punchy hooks per paragraph—like the kind that would make Meganovel readers unable to put it down. It would emphasize suspense, tension, and Kaelen’s charisma in a more “addictive” style.

Do you want me to do that next?